


every ribbon you use to tie yourself to me

by indelibleangel (InfallibleAngel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Swan Lake Fusion, Ballet, Disney, F/F, Female Tom Riddle, Fluff, Happy Ending, accurate swan facts, inacurate swan lake facts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:14:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfallibleAngel/pseuds/indelibleangel
Summary: There is something wicked in the forest, it kidnaps girls and men who venture too deep are never seen again.Prophecies, magic and love. A Swan Lake AU





	every ribbon you use to tie yourself to me

**Author's Note:**

> i have never watched swan lake, but i have watched Barbie of Swan Lake so i'm hoping the original is just as good.
> 
> Thanks to Nekositting who pushed for the idea of female Tom and AconitumLuparia who beta read and corrected all my horrible grammar errors! i love both of them v much, thanks x

 

There was a prophecy- because of course there was.

All good stories must start like this, the hero’s quest clear as crystal and just as radiant and the villain to be defeated, despicable beyond belief. The prophecy was made before his time yet with its specific conditions it could refer to no one else. No one else had tested out the limits of their magic before him, it was a secret used only to heal broken bones or preserve food for longer periods of time. No one else had lured people who wouldn’t be missed deep into the forest and enchanted them to never leave, to dance to their deaths or eat themselves for his own amusement. He was smart and cruel but more importantly, he was cautious in whatever he did.

Prophecies make fools out of the best of men, especially prophecies about their deaths.

The prophecy said this- if the prince and the baker’s daughter fell in love, the dark wizard in the forest would die.

People, regardless of how hard they try, can never truly be fearless. So, for a man who mastered magic, commanded disease, charmed time, and conjured whatever he needed out of thin air, the only thing left to fear was death.

He killed the prince at first, but the king had more children. He killed the queen, but the king remarried. He killed the entire royal family, but another simply took its place. He then went after the baker’s daughters and the baker’s wife and then finally the baker, but more people taught themselves to bake. He settled for kidnapping the baker’s daughters and cursing them to turn into swans during the day, content to keep them out of sight of the prince.

She was the only one who resisted. She was just nine, but her magic was strong enough to partially transform him into an owl, and she stood there, barefoot and defiant in her father’s bakery, staring at Gellert as if she could kill him by sheer will alone. He asked for her name and she tried to set his hair on fire, so he whisked her away to his home and taught her magic and grew to love her like a daughter.

‘Voldemort’ he called her, the word twisting on his tongue, Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort.

“My little flight of death,” he said with fondness, for it amused him, keeping the person who had the power to bring about his death so close to him.

She learnt his magic and called him father, but her soul never gave up its defiance, and like that she grew, steeped in magic and rage.

 

There was a new baker in the village who had a daughter the same age as the prince. The baker was said to make bread with milk, and cakes so light you would never get sick of them. His daughter however, was the talk of the town for having a lovely singing voice despite being quite odd, as she always had her nose in a book.

The thing about curses is that they must always have a clause, a small glimmer of hope that the curse can be broken. No curse is infallible, but some sorcerers liked to make their curses difficult to break for example they would set conditions like the victim could reverse the curse only if they sailed along the edge of the world.

Gellert however, had loved a man in his youth and knew personally how fickle the hearts of men were. He crafted his clause, so the victim would waste their days away in hopes that the curse may be broken, but all his victims died swans, weeping beside a lake of their tears.

“The curse can only be broken if someone who has never loved before pledges to love you forevermore,” he would say as the girls cried and cried and cried. Gellert had placed an enchantment that the girls couldn’t leave the forest in their human form, and those desperate enough to try to get men to love them in their swan form were often shot down and turned into pillows.

The newest girl was the first to not cry as night fell, in fact she stormed into Gellert’s home and declared it hers now as well.

“If I have to be stuck in this forest I will live comfortably,” she stated to Voldemort as if daring her to contradict her, to deny her what she took.

“Do whatever you want,” replied Voldemort, concentrating on the Ladybird beetles she was cutting in half, “There’s bread in the pantry, don’t touch my books.”

Grindelwald for his part was content to ignore her, he had lived for a century already now and was starting to feel his age. “Voldemort,” he would call from his balcony where he sat reading and smoking his herbs, “My Voldemort what are you making?”

“Your health potions for next month Father,” she would say or, “a charm of protection,” she would inform, ever the dutiful daughter.

“My name is Hermione,” said the new swan girl, “Is Voldemort your real name?”

“It is my name now,” she answered, her concentration never wavering.

Hermione watched her and read Gellert’s books and listened to her chanting and it took months, but they fell into an uneasy peace accustomed to each other’s presence.

 

At this point, even though Voldemort had been stolen away she was not another of Gellert’s unhappy victims. Even before she was taken, she would turn dogs into toads with no concern for the animals’ psychological distress, and she took to dark magic like a swan takes to water. Her favorite pastime was turning men who crossed her path into pigs, after inviting them home for dinner. She would offer them wine mixed with transformative herbs and once they were done she would speak the words of power and then make them her dinner. Gellert often remarked that their meat was sweeter than regular pork.

She had been weak once and with magic she swore never to be weak again.

 

“Can you help me?” asked Hermione one day, “Can you undo this?”

“A curse can only be undone if the clause is complete,” she recited.

“There has to be another way, there must,” said Hermione, “Have you checked any of your books?”

“This is one of the basic rules of magic, but you are welcome to my books if you want to confirm it.”

Hermione did not have any magic but what she lacked in skill she made up for with her enthusiasm for learning. It wasn’t long before the two girls became friends, chanting in unison over potions, and weaving protection charms and straw dolls. During the day Voldemort would feed her lettuce and at night there was always a hot plate of dinner waiting for her. In return Hermione would scout for her potions ingredients from the sky and bring them to her so she wouldn’t have to venture in the dangerous parts of the forest alone.

 

One night though, Hermione limped in, her foot a bloody mangled mess with an arrow shaft through it.

“Who did this?” asked Voldemort quietly, her voice sharp with rage. Hermione had never seen her angry before, and Voldemort’s rage scared her. It twisted her beautiful face into something inhuman, her dark eyes were no longer welcoming but icy, and her long black hair made her look crazed. “I will tear out their heart, I will turn them into ducks and feed them to their own mother, I will—”

“Voldemort,” Hermione interrupted, “It’s okay, it was a hunter and they saw me after I transformed and helped get part of the arrow out and bring me home. They were very sorry, but I made them stay away from the house. Don’t tell Grindelwald.”

“I won’t,” she promised, “Now lay down by the fire I can have you healed by morning.” That night Voldemort worked, grinding bitter herbs and salves and singing over them as she applied them to the wound. Just like she said, the wound was nearly healed by morning as Hermione transformed into a swan once again. She ate her lettuce and flew away as always. That day Voldemort went through her jewelry box and using an old ring made her a circlet of protection, so she would be safe in the forest.

As the days went, Hermione began getting home later and later, the nights bleeding away as Voldemort waited, pacing by the door.

“Where were you?’ asked Voldemort, her brow furrowed as Hermione entered.

“Plotting a migration route with the swan council,” replied Hermione flippantly but seeing Voldemort’s face she laughed, “Dancing.”

And Hermione spent her nights dancing and dancing in the moonlight, and slowly falling in love. She thought she had never been in love before, and even though she loved her family and her friends and Voldemort in her own way she felt that falling in love with a man surely must be different, or the bards would not sing about it so.

She was nearly in love when one night she came home in tears.

“Why can’t I leave the forest?” she asked Voldemort who was sitting and knitting scarves imbued with magic for them all.

“It is Grindelwald’s enchantment, why were you trying to leave?”

“I wanted to see my family, I heard my father was sick. How can I leave?”

“From where did you hear that?” questioned Voldemort sharply.

“Harry. He’s the hunter who shot me, who I’ve been dancing with. We’re in love and I sent him to check on my family. How can I leave?” she repeated.

“I won’t let you go, you’re mine,” replied Voldemort stubbornly. “Men have fickle hearts, they can’t love, this Harry shot you once, he’ll do it again.”

“You’re a wicked, wicked, witch.” Hermione cried and stormed out of the house and didn’t return. She didn’t eat the lettuce Voldemort left out for her and she left behind her circlet of protection by the door.

For her part Voldemort was confused. She had lived with only Grindelwald for company for twenty years now and he had always given her what she wanted. No one had ever gotten angry with her or refused her anything, so seeing Hermione defy her like this was a new and unpleasant experience.

 

It was nearly a month later when Voldemort saw an invitation addressed to Hermione trampled on the ground while walking near swan lake. It turned out that the hunter Hermione had been dancing with was the prince and he had invited her to a ball at the royal castle. Upset, she took the invitation to Gellert and finally finally told him Hermione’s secrets, of the boy who shot her and how they were falling in love.

Gellert was furious, but the ball was that night, and he didn’t know if Hermione had read how to undo his charms in one of Voldemort’s books. He didn’t want to risk the prophecy coming true, so he enchanted Voldemort to look just like Hermione and took her to the palace with a meticulous plan of action.

The ball was in full swing as they arrived, and Prince Harry was dancing, but on seeing Voldemort he excused himself.

“Hermione!” he called out, his green eyes sparkling with joy, “I’m so glad you could make it! Did the potion you stole work on the forest? I was nearly ready to march over and threaten Grindelwald myself. You must meet my mother.”

“How about a dance first, Harry?” asked Voldemort, her voice saccharine and with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Of course,” he responded, sweeping her onto the dance floor. Their movements were synched, and they kept perfect time as they meandered through the dancing couples. He smiled at her like a fool in love but Voldemort was neither a fool nor in love with him, so when she tried to grin it just looked a little unnatural.

“Harry, Harry do you love me?”

“With all my heart,” he replied.

“Promise me then,” she said, just as Gellert had instructed. “Promise me you will love only me. Promise you will love me forever.”

“I promise.” He said, and with that Hermione’s fate was sealed, magic binding Harry’s love to Voldemort. He could live, he could marry, he could die, but he would never be able to love another again.

Grindelwald appeared at that and laughed wickedly, his fear of death turning to anger that someone plotted to kill him. He was sure that this was no coincidence and it was the work of the chief warlock who was also the man he’d loved in his youth. He was right, but Voldemort had had enough, Harry’s promise hung like a weight around her throat and she turned to go home. She hadn’t wanted this but Grindelwald had asked and so she obeyed.

Near the door, however, lay Hermione in a faint having heard Harry pledging his love to Voldemort, her one friend, a girl she loved as she loved herself. For Hermione’s love was like this, despite fighting with her and refusing to let her leave, Voldemort still had her heart.

Before Gellert could see and kill her, Voldemort levitated her, and quickly took her home.

“Hermione,” she said as she poured a potion down her throat, “Hermione wake up, Hermione what’s wrong?”

“Voldemort,” she cried weakly.

“Tam,” she corrected, “my name was Tamsin.”

“Tam, I think this is heartbreak. My chest hurts, and I fear I may never find another to love again. I’m a swan and I feel like I must die.”

At this Tam stopped, furious. Grindelwald had stolen her away, yet she had never betrayed him because he had also taught her magic. However, this was too much, he had made her complicit in the death of her only friend, the one person she cared about. He always took and took and took. Whatever she had he took but she would allow him to take from her no longer.

Her decision made, she leaned over and kissed Hermione determinedly, trying to pour out all her feelings into that kiss. She had never met anyone who could fill her with so many emotions. Having Hermione beside her filled her heart with joy, Hermione leaving filled her with despair, someone hurting Hermione filled her with rage.

‘Surely this must be love,’ she thought, ‘I would do whatever it takes to keep her happy. Even if she leaves after this I will let her go. She is the only one who can fill my heart.’

“I promise to always always love you,” she whispered. “The curse is broken Hermione.”

“Tam, but now your love is bound to me, I have doomed you!”

“You haven’t, I loved you long before this, you have stolen my heart you wicked wicked girl.”

Hermione sat up and kissed her again, longer this time. She had never completely fallen in love with Harry and even though she had tried her best to, something had always felt off. With Tam it was like coming home and taking her shoes off and falling into bed, finding peace at last. Now she could finally be herself and do what her heart yearned. This was the kind of freedom she had always dreamed of and as she clutched Tam’s hair hungrily, she vowed to never let her go.

The broke away and just looked at each other, happy to have found someone who saw them.

“You stole my potion,” said Voldemort in mock anger, but she was unable to keep a smile from her face.

“And you trapped me in this forest, so that makes us even,” finished Hermione.

And they were kissing again, giddy with belonging for the very first time in their short lives.

 

When Gellert returned later covered in blood, he came home to Voldemort waiting for him, and Hermione beside her with an arrow trained towards him.

“What have you done my Voldemort?” he asked on seeing them, his eyes widening, for twenty years had passed and he had forgotten why he called his daughter Voldemort in the first place, he had grown assured and content with her obedience and devotion.

“Whatever I have done it is out of my _love_ for you, Father,” she said.

And before he could reply Hermione put a bow through his heart fulfilling the prophecy.

Prophecies are tricky things and despite what you do they must always come true. Gellert’s prophecy never specified that the prince and the baker’s daughter had to fall in love with each other, and he himself tricked the prince into declaring and promising his love to the baker’s daughter.

 

The witch and her heart lived there in their forest and as the decades passed, the village forgot about them. No one made prophecies about them and they were content to live and let live. Though it is rumored that if a man crosses a witch’s path in the dark forbidden forest he never returns, but if a woman who wants to escape dances around swan lake, she will always find refuge and help given freely.


End file.
